


Number

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Gags, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim saves his candy for after duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Lalala quick porn that shoulda been a drabble but went too long.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Bones is a good friend—his best friend—a great CMO, and a terrible first officer. He spends more time hovering behind Jim’s chair than bent over the science station, he neglects several important orders out of disagreement, and he deliberately contradicts Jim on more than one occasion.

But then, Jim’s _real_ first officer falls into that last category just as easily. It doesn’t make Jim miss him any less. As much as he enjoys their ‘games,’ he doesn’t think he’ll let them interfere with bridge operations again, even if their current star charting mission is utterly routine. ...Besides, near the end of the shift, Bones’ questions on the Vulcan’s absence grow progressively harder to ignore.

Jim answers them by stepping into the turbolift alone, and now he’s off to his quarters, doggedly ignoring the communicator in his pocket. Sooner or later, Bones will give up. And if he doesn’t, well...

Spock will have to be untied sooner or later, anyway.

Spock isn’t visible right away. Jim’s quarters are as pristine as usual—thanks, in no small part, to his impeccably tidy boyfriend—and it makes him self-conscious of folding his uniform’s gold shirt when he takes it off. He’s half out of his boots by the time he gets to the bedroom, and there he finds Spock right where Jim left him: bound at the foot of Jim’s bend. He looks up at Jim’s entrance, even though the black silk blindfold prevents him from seeing. His elegantly pointed ears are still working fine. He doesn’t utter a sound, even though when Jim wears the same, bright-red ball-gag, he’s been known to whine through it. Spock has more self-control. It’s only barely visible that all his muscles have tensed; he probably wouldn’t have chosen to miss a shift of work. ...But Jim is the captain, and Spock is the model first officer: set as his perfect right hand, to sit at his proverbial side and abide his every wish, bend to all his will. Jim takes the nature of their contract much farther than he knows he should, but even now, after the damage is done, Spock isn’t protesting.

Spock pulls himself to attention. Naked from head to foot, his pale skin seems to shine in the light of the Jim’s quarters, set at an almost uncomfortably high temperature to accommodate his Vulcan pet. Spock’s strong back is mostly straight, arched only where the arms bound tightly behind his back force him to, causing his taut chest to protrude just enough to give him the air of pleading. His small, dusty nipples call Jim’s attention briefly, before the rest of him becomes undeniable; the line of his smooth stomach dips into a healthy smattering of black hair, surrounding a thick, long cock nestled between his thighs. Those inner thighs are bound to his ankles, his ankles bound to one another, and the leash clipped to them straightens up to the back of his collar; he looks like an Orion slave, ready for auction. The green tip of his luscious cock seems to pulse at Jim’s gaze, but that could just be Jim’s imagination; he’s used to Spock’s body reacting specially for him.

When he drops a hand to pet back Spock’s glossy, straight-cut black hair, Spock nuzzles into his hand. Spock’s nose presses into his palm, stretched-open, wet lips brushing along his heel, but there’s little more that Spock can do. Jim scratches behind one pointed ear like petting a cat, and when he imagines Spock having a wagging tail, he chuckles.

Spock looks up at the sound, but he still utters no noise himself, and Jim assures him quietly, “It was a dull shift. You didn’t miss anything.” He neglects to say who he had replace Spock, and instead he unclips the back of the gag, letting the dark straps tumble down Spock’s strong jaw. He holds the ball in his mouth until Jim tells him, huskier than he means to, “You can drop it.”

So Spock opens his mouth impossibly wider, and the wet ball topples over his bottom lip and down to his thighs, where it rolls to floor. It leaves a slick trail of saliva wherever it touched, and Spock’s chin dribbles with the same mess that he doesn’t bother to clean up. He seems to test his jaw, which is no doubt sore, even to the superior body of a Vulcan. Then he closes his bow lips, awaiting more of Jim’s benevolence. 

Jim half expects to be told that this game went too far, but when Jim pulls the blindfold from Spock’s dark eyes, they merely glimmer up at him, burning with a hunger no Vulcan would ever betray in public. Here, in the sanctity of their quarters, between _t’hy’la_ , Spock murmurs only, “Thank you, Captain.”

Jim shivers, and he doesn’t know if he’s hard in that instant or if he was from first seeing Spock’s naked body bound and waiting for him. None of the bindings are strong enough to hold a determined Vulcan, but Spock is a good first through and through; he waited, and Jim knows he would’ve waited longer, had Jim stalled returning. Had Jim not untied him at all. Jim entertains a few dirty images of fucking Spock, still completely bound, into the carpet, then righting him again and leaving him there, stained and helpless. But Jim enjoys Spock’s pretty face too much to keep it all hidden for long, and the way Spock’s eyes flicker to Jim’s crotch excites him more than any view of Spock’s inactive body could. Spock lifts one sharp eyebrow and offers, voice almost as heavy as Jim’s, “Would you like me to take care of your current issue, Captain?” Even though _Jim_ would work just fine. Jim bites back his groan and resists coming all over Spock’s gorgeous figure right now. 

Instead, Jim struggles to keep his composure as he pushes down his fly. He waited all shift for this; he can wait a little more. He takes a step over Spock’s lap, straddling him, bare feet to either side of Spock’s tied bare legs. That puts Spock’s face right at his crotch, and when he stares down the soft line of Spock’s body, he finds Spock’s chest arching further forward, Spock’s cock stiffening in his lap, responding to Jim’s presence and scent and voice and the promise of _more_. Jim’s got his dick out in a heartbeat, solid as steel and pointing straight between Spock’s eyes. He doesn’t have to nudge Spock’s face, because Spock does it for him. 

Spock opens his mouth and leans forward, running his long, green-tinted tongue all down the length. Every vein he touches seems to pulse faster, the skin his spit covers staining darker pink than the rest. At the head, Spock laves a hard, broad stroke over Jim’s tip, and then he chastely kisses it, and then he opens wide and pops down his prize.

Jim’s reeling in an instant. There’s no hesitation. Spock takes Jim’s cock like he was made for it, swallowing it down to the root, rocking forward as much as his binding will allow. His jaw has to stretch as wide as the gag forced him, perhaps even wider; it’s hard to find toys that match Jim’s size. But Spock knows his body so well, and Spock takes all of him, sucks him hard and nuzzles into Jim’s stomach, nose flattened in Jim’s pubic hair and teeth lightly scraping the sensitive skin at Jim’s base. Spock is careful, meticulous, wonderful and _amazing_ ; he sucks hard and runs his tongue flat along the bottom. It’s all Jim can do not to scream. His hands dart down, fisting in Spock’s hair, nearly ripping out two chunks, but Spock doesn’t seem deterred. He pulls back halfway, sliding down Jim’s shaft with a wet slurping noise, while Jim watches through heavy lids. Spock’s are half closed, cheeks darker than usual, pupils dilated. He’s irresistible. 

He shoves back down, impaling himself wildly; Jim lets out a loud, languid moan. The pressure in Spock’s throat is bliss, made better every time Spock swallows around him, better still when Spock sucks. Spock begins to bob up and down of his own accord, sliding off Jim’s cock with a sort of practiced skill that he’s probably secretly proud of. Jim wouldn’t blame him. Jim clutches to the back of his moving head and groans, “ _Spock_...” Too overwhelmed to say anything more. Every time Spock’s chin hits his balls, he thinks they’re going to clench and explode. He almost growls for Spock to fondle them, but remembers just in time that Spock can’t; Spock’s still relentlessly tied, bound at his feet and helpless. It makes Jim harder than it probably should. He runs his hands back to cup Spock’s head and run his thumbs along the shells of Spock’s ears, loving every little detail that makes Spock _Spock_.

It’s several thrusts before Spock moans himself, the sound full of shame and muffled around Jim’s girth. But Jim hears it, and it sparks a lust inside him that can’t be stopped; he rams his hips forward into Spock’s face, grinding in despite Spock’s sudden, sharp keen. Jim does it again, then again, humping Spock’s mouth, fucking Spock’s face, even as Spock lunges back and joins in, bringing them together so fiercely that a human’s nose might break under the force. Spock’s won’t. Spock only growls in pleasure and tries to arch more into it, and once, he jerks suddenly, clearly tugging at his bonds, but they hold firm and he settles, concentrating instead on the pleasures his mouth can provide his captain. Jim’s in heaven in no time and finds himself muttering a filthy slew of, “Spock, _yes, fuck, Spock, augh_...” 

Jim’s own name echoes in his mind: a ghost of their bond, and it’s enough to make Jim scream. He slams into Spock’s face with a force that nearly sends Spock toppling backwards, but then Jim’s pulling back, slipping out of Spock’s plush lips just in time to come all over them. His cock spurts one hot jet after jet, painting Spock’s face in sticky white lines that drip down the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. His eyes close, but his mouth stays open, tongue catching everything it can. Jim’s mess splatters Spock’s chin and spills down to his collarbone, clinging to his neck and chest. 

When it’s down to just a stray drip or two, Spock leans in to lick the rest away, and he swallows just the head of Jim’s dick and sucks, as though expecting to milk out more. Jim shivers and moans and doesn’t care that a stray glob of cum in Spock’s hair is getting on his own hand. He humps Spock’s face until he’s too dizzy to stand, and then he sinks down to his knees, suddenly acutely aware of how dressed he is compared to his boyfriend. 

He’s sweating and disheveled but otherwise presentable, and Spock’s... Spock’s a _wreck_. He’s breathing unusually hard for a Vulcan, panting just as much as Jim, probably because his cock is twitching pathetically in his lap, rock hard and untouched. His cum-covered face doesn’t deter Jim at all; Jim lunges in for a salty kiss that tastes too much like him for comfort. He doesn’t care. He plunges his tongue into Spock’s mouth anyway, and when he forces himself to pull back enough for them to both breathe, he means to apologize. Instead, he mumbles, “You’re awesome.”

Spock, though his dazed eyes and stained cheeks give away his pleasure, says in true Spock fashion, “You should not put the bridge in jeopardy again.”

Jim bites back that there was no jeopardy involved and utters his instinctive, “Sorry.” But he knows apologies don’t mean much to Vulcans, and he adds a kiss to Spock’s cheek to help, carefully avoiding a string of his own seed. Spock turns to kiss him back, and when they part, Jim asks, hot and still inexplicably horny, probably from the raw scent and sight of his aroused mate, “Your turn next?” 

Spock murmurs more sensually than anyone who claims no emotions has any right to be, “If it pleases my captain.”

Jim accidentally grunts, “You’re such a better first than Bones is.” And then he kisses Spock hard so he doesn’t have to explain, hand already darting down to help.


End file.
